


In Which Cas Has Tentacles and Dean Copes With French Fries

by thequeergiraffe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: I Don't Even Know, M/M, One Shot, tentacle!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 02:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1534076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequeergiraffe/pseuds/thequeergiraffe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One moment Cas is just Cas, water sticking his hair to his forehead and dripping down his nose, his good suit plastered to his body, the dress shirt transparent enough that Dean can see his white T-shirt beneath it...and then, in an instant, Cas is something else. </p><p>---</p><p>Cas and Dean argue, with unexpected results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Cas Has Tentacles and Dean Copes With French Fries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [propinquitous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/propinquitous/gifts).



> I apologize to all seven billion people on this planet for what follows.

The first time Cas _slips_ , they're arguing. It's such a stupid bullshit fight, too, Cas and Dean shouting at each other in the rain about ruined dinner plans because neither of them can talk about the things they're really upset about: the loneliness that comes with near constant separation; that steady nagging in their bones, the ticking clock that is Dean's mortality.

So instead of saying "I love you and I'm afraid because you're going to die one day and I can't go with you", Cas shouts, "How was I supposed to know we needed a reservation?", and instead of saying "I wish you'd just stay with me for awhile; I know you're doing important work but I need you, just for awhile", Dean slams his fist against the hood of the Impala and snarls, "You've got to be kidding me. You didn't think we needed a reservation? On Valentine’s Day? You don't even try, do you?"

And that's it, the moment things go too far. One moment Cas is just Cas, water sticking his hair to his forehead and dripping down his nose, his good suit plastered to his body, the dress shirt transparent enough that Dean can see his white T-shirt beneath it...and then, in an instant, Cas is something _else_.

His face seems to melt, the eye sockets drooping to his chin and revealing wet-looking pink-speckled flesh. His arms elongate to freakish lengths and keep growing, the hands disappearing and suckers-- like an octopus would have, maybe, in a nightmare-- appearing in their place. His legs seem to multiply, too, writhing horribly inside his trousers. And his mouth-- a mouth that Dean has worshipped and punched in almost equal measure-- the horror of it is beyond description. It gapes at him in seeming disbelief, before let out an inhuman hiss. "All I _do_ is try,” the monster insists, in something very nearly like Castiel’s gravelly voice.

The world seems to move like the ocean’s tides beneath Dean's feet. He finds himself sitting in the mud, his hands splayed beside him and his eyes wide -- and then, in the space of heartbeat, it's Cas standing in front of him. Normal, soaked-to-the-bone Cas, with his furrowed brow and his filthy dress shoes, kneeling in the mud beside Dean and touching him like a worried mother touches an injured toddler, just checking to make sure all the pieces are still where they should be.

"I should be checking _your_ pieces," Dean mutters, shivering from the cold or the residual fear or some combination of the two. Cas gives him a look but says nothing, just runs his hands down Dean's lapels again and again until finally Dean mumbles something about being fine and pushes himself to his feet.

A normal person, upon seeing his lover briefly take the shape of an eldritch abomination, might react any number of ways. He might flee, or faint, or go immediately, catatonically insane. Dean is not a normal person. Once he's on his feet, he draws a steadying breath, wipes his filthy palms on his slightly-less-filthy slacks, lifts his chin, and looks Cas in the eyes. "Fuck this," he says, very calmly. "Let's go to Mickey D's."

Twenty minutes later, their damp suit jackets and ties relegated to the back seat and their sleeves pushed up, Cas and Dean have their Valentine's dinner in a poorly lit parking lot next to an especially rundown McDonald's.

"So that wasn't your true form?" Dean asks around a mouthful of fries.

Cas shakes his head, dabs ketchup away from the corner of his mouth. "No. If I'd lost my temper to the extent that I accidentally allowed you to see my true form, you'd be dead." He looks at Dean from over his cheeseburger. "I'm glad that didn't happen. For what it's worth."

"Real romantic, Cas."

They’re quiet for awhile, only the noise of the rain beating on the hood and the occasional slurp off a straw breaking the silence. Then Dean sighs and turns so he can look Cas in the eyes. "So what the hell was that, then?"

"An expression."

Dean waits for Cas to go on, but he doesn't. "...Okay," Dean says at length, fighting to keep his frustration out of his voice. "And you were able to ’express yourself’ like that because...?"

"Because this vessel is unique." Cas slaps the remainder of his burger down and gives Dean his full attention, finally. "I'm not an angel wearing a human meat suit. I'm...I'm something else."

"Something like what?" Dean asks, a bit of his earlier fear lending an unwanted edge to his voice.

Cas looks down at his hands. "I don't know," he answers, so softly and earnestly that Dean realizes this is something Cas has worried about many, many times before. "Lucifer killed this vessel. When I was brought back...I assumed God brought me back. And maybe, the first time, maybe that was God. But..." He shakes his head. The way his hair sticks up as it dries and the kissable droop of his mouth make it easy to forget what happened earlier. Like this, Dean thinks, Cas is easy to love. "I think it's the grace. The _other_ grace, the _wrong_ grace. Combined with my brief humanity...you realize no angel has done this before?" His eyes are on Dean's now, serious and narrowed. "I was mortal, and I stole another angel's grace. The effect it's had on me, on the metaphysical level...it’s like nothing I could have anticipated."

"Metawhatsitcal meaning 'shit, I've suddenly got tentacles'?"

A glimmer of a smile from Cas. "Something like that."

"Huh." Dean swipes the last of Castiel's fries while he considers this, chewing slowly and thoughtfully. "Okay," he says at last.

"Okay?" Cas looks at Dean like _he's_ the one sprouting tentacles. "That's it?"

"That's it." Over the sudden roar of the ignition, Dean says, "Wasn't there a drive-in movie place off the highway?"

 


End file.
